


Coyotes

by brorotica



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Car Accidents, Character Death, Drunk Driving, Explicit Language, Incest, M/M, Sibling Incest, Twincest, Twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-20
Updated: 2012-07-20
Packaged: 2017-11-10 08:24:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/464212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brorotica/pseuds/brorotica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael kills a child while drunk one night and Lucifer takes the fall for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coyotes

**Author's Note:**

> Explicit language, Alternate universe, (tw)incest, mentions of a car accident, mentions of death, mentions of court. I may continue this, I may not. I don’t know right now, though.

Lucifer sleeps in the back of his pickup, the seats stained from last week’s fast food meal and cigarette ashes and come. His truck reeks of smoke, and while he keeps the windows down as he wanders down to the lake to wash his shirt- his only remaining shirt- when he comes back, slightly damp but cleaner, it still smells. He’s living on his own, out off a back road with no company aside from his bong and his Tom Petty CDs, and while the lake… pond… whatever the fuck it is provides a good deal of water and a way to keep clean, the fact remains that he is living in the back of his pickup truck, eating chocolate bars in place of real meals.  
The nights are the worst, cold with a hint of the impending winter blowing through them, and he can hear the coyotes as they come to drink and howl at the moon. Wrapped up in a shirt he stole off Michael before he was so rudely kicked out, he tries to keep warm, unable to run the engine for fear of using up whatever gasoline he still has left. He can’t afford to get anymore.

People visit him, sometimes. Meg brings him two bags of groceries and a can opener, sits in the bed of the truck with him for hours on ends and laughs and smiles and pretends that they’re just hanging out like they used to, like nothing has changed, but eventually she has to go, when the sun starts to wane and the moon begins to take its place. She always kisses him on the temple, tells him that she’ll be back when she can, but work is kicking her ass and school is kicking her ass, and eventually she stops coming all together.

Lucifer runs out of the things she brought him and goes hungry, parsing out a can every two days to make sure he eats enough to stay alive. There’s a gas station not too far away, and if he gets on his knees and sucks the clerk’s cock, fast and wet and rough, the kid gives him some chips and some water for free and sends him off again. He stays alive this way, stays somewhat coherent, even though he doesn’t have a job and has no way of getting out of town. No one trusts him.

He misses his brothers, though, Castiel and Raphael and Gabe. He misses Anna, too, misses her more than the boys. She was always his favourite sibling. But he misses Michael the most, all dark hair and blue eyes and lips curved down in a faint, disapproving frown. Michael’s the reason Lucifer’s living out here- Michael hit the kid, killed the kid, but Lucifer’s the one who took the blame, Lucifer’s the one who went to court and became a pariah and is hated by the people in town- but Lucifer wants his brother, needs him in the worst possible way, because he loves Michael more than he loves himself, loves him intensely and fiercely and deeply, so hard that sometimes he hates him for making his stomach twist up and his entire body feel numb.

Most of all, he wishes Michael would visit him.

He gets his wish one day when he hears the vague rumble of a familiar car, and before long Michael’s pulling up beside his pickup, wearing that stupid gray university hoodie Lucifer bought him on a whim and looking vaguely terrified. He doesn’t want to be here, Lucifer knows, but it doesn’t matter. He’s here.

Lucifer extinguishes his joint- it’s the last of his weed, but he doesn’t care. He’s been out here for a month now, ever since he walked out of the court room a free but hated man, and his brother never even bothered to visit until now. “Why’re you here?” he says, and god, his voice is hoarse, broken from disuse. When was the last time he spoke to someone? “You come here to kill another kid and blame it on me?”

They were both drunk, both so fucked up, but Michael had been driving, Michael hadn’t seen the boy run out until it was too late, and Lucifer had screamed at his brother but Michael had still hit him. There had been blood, blood every fucking where, and then Michael crying and begging and pleading for the boy to stay alive, for him to just fucking make it, and there had been Lucifer, his clothes wrinkled and the kid’s brains stuck to the grill of Michael’s jeep.

And Lucifer had taken the fall.

What else could he have done?

“Don’t,” Michael says, and Lucifer laughs at him, taking a step towards his twin and stopping just short of grabbing his arm.

“Don’t what? Dad kicked me out and you didn’t say shit, you didn’t come here and give me help or fix this, and everyone in town thinks I’m this… this fucking monster, and you didn’t tell them anything. You didn’t say shit, you just stood there and you let them drive me out like I’m some kind of leper. And I’m not supposed to be angry with you?”

“I didn’t say that.” Michael looks at him and god, there are such dark bags under his eyes, his skin pale and drawn. He hasn’t been sleeping. Lucifer falters and Michael rubs at his face, looking absolutely exhausted. “I’d be mad at me. But what was I supposed to do? How was I supposed to fix it? I didn’t fucking ask you to take the blame. I didn’t want you to.”

They stand in silence for a few moments before Michael takes a tentative step forward. “I’m sorry. Like… I’m fucking sorry. That’s all I came here to say.”

“That’s the only reason you came here? I am starving to death, Mike. I am sleeping in my truck. I have no money, no way of getting a job or getting out of town, and you just came to say sorry? You’re such a fucking prick.”

Michael closes the gap between them, grabbing Lucifer’s arms and shoving him against the side of the pickup. “What the fuck do you want me to do, Lucifer? How do you want me to fix this? Just fucking tell me and I will make it all fucking better! I’m not psychic, I don’t know what you need!”

“I need food, and water, and a place to live where I’m not going to get eaten by fucking coyotes,” Lucifer hisses, but he doesn’t attempt to shove Michael away from him. “But you can’t do that, can you? You came out here to say sorry and to say goodbye because as always, Mike is looking out for Mike. I couldn’t ask for a better twin, could I? Not with one who clearly loves me so goddamn much.”

Michael kisses him before he can continue, and his lips are hard against his, his tongue tasting like mint gum and toothpaste. Lucifer knows he must taste like pot, but Michael doesn’t seem to care, his eyes slipping closed as he grabs the front of Lucifer’s shirt and pulls him closer, drawing him deeper. Lucifer parts his lips and lets Michael kiss him, because it isn’t a new phenomena but one he hasn’t experienced since Michael hit that boy last year.

“You don’t get it,” Michael says, pulling away just enough to speak. Lucifer can still feel his breath against his lips. “You can’t fucking get it. I killed him, Lucifer, and I got away with it. That kid died in my fucking arms and I can’t do anything about it. I can’t bring him back or fix him, and I can’t fix what I did to you. I have nightmares all the time about that boy, and I have nightmares about you and I just…”

He hesitates, clearly struggling to find the words. “I have money for you,” he finally says. “I have money and food and I have a thing of gas so you can get where you need to go, but you need to leave. I’ve ruined everything for you here. Please just go. All I ask is that you tell me once you get there.”

Lucifer looks at him for a long moment before laughing, tilting his head back and staring up at the unimpeded view of the sky. “You’re asking something of me?”

“I just want to know if you’re all right.”

“You just want to know that I won’t fucking tell someone what you did,” Lucifer says bitterly, shoving his brother back violently. “I won’t breathe a goddamn word. Your reputation is safe. Give me whatever shit you’re gonna give me and then just fucking go. I don’t want to fucking see you again, Mike.”

They don’t speak as they load the things into the back of Lucifer’s truck. There’s clothes and food and water, blankets and a cooler and a tank of gasoline. Michael hands him two thousand dollars wrapped up in neat little stacks, and Lucifer knows his brother has just given him everything he’s ever saved, but he doesn’t say a word, the two men looking at each other in absolute silence before Michael leans forward and tries to kiss him again.

Lucifer turns his head to the side and Michael freezes, backing off a little. “I’ll see you around.”

“No,” Lucifer says. “You won’t.”

Michael hesitates, studies him, starts to stay something and stops, going back to his car. Whatever he wanted to say, he never does. He just gets in, starts the engine, and gives Lucifer a mournful smile before leaving. Lucifer waits until he can no longer hear the engine before looking back at his pickup truck, tossing the money in the passenger seat and leaning against the hood. The pond is glistening with the first rays of sunset, and once, Lucifer might have found it beautiful.

Now, it just looks like blood.


End file.
